Page 19 of Here for a Good Time

Once we’re both hidden, I motion that I’m going to peek.

Craning my head as far as I can, I try to take stock of the scene.

It looks like all of the staff members—or nearly all of them, depending on how many there are—are gathered in a circle in the middle, hands tied behind their backs.

I spot Antonio and Leila and Sandra and Eka.

There are two armed guards around them, and two more stationed at the front steps that connect the reception area to the rest of the resort.

I return to the safety of our giant tree. “Women,” I whisper, frowning as I try to recall something.

“What?” Zwe asks.

“They’re all… women,” I say slowly. “Or at least… most of them are.”

“How do you know? Can you see their faces?”

“No, they’re wearing masks,” I relay. “But it’s their hair. The ones with long hair at least have their hair braided. And also their… general physique. I think…”

“What?”

“I think… the people in the buggy were women, too.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I gasp. “The perfume.” That’s what I smelled.

“What perfume?”

But I’m already thinking aloud. “It’s Jo Malone. Wood sage and sea salt. I thought I was smelling the ocean but it was their perfume.”

“That’s both weird and impressive,” he says, one brow arching up. “Weird that they’re all women, impressive that you can pinpoint a perfume on a passing buggy.”

“The definition of ‘superpowers’ isn’t limited to just ‘flying’ and ‘teleportation,’” I say sagely.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, woman, man, nonbinary, it doesn’t matter because they’re still armed and trying to find us. Can we cross over to the other side without them noticing?”

“There are four of them so we’ll have to be quiet,” I say. I look around, willing a field of tall, unkempt grass to magically appear, but all I see is a row of pruned trees. Damn these perfectly kept gardens. “We need a distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?”

“The kind that will confuse them long enough for us to make a run for it behind the trees.”

“Like what? We don’t have anything.”

“I don’t know!” I huff. “Let me take another look.” I stretch out my neck again and am scanning around for something, maybe a vase I could throw a shoe at, or—I freeze when I make eye contact with Antonio.

He widens his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s saying Help us or Get the fuck out of here.

I motion over at the woods behind the reception area, hoping that he puts two and two together.

His face scrunches up as he looks back and forth between me and the general direction in which I’m gesturing, but then he sits up straight and I know he’s got it.

“Are you ready?” I whisper at Zwe without taking my eyes off Antonio, who nods.

“For what?” Zwe asks.

“To run.”

“Wha—”

“Three,” I say and hold up three fingers so that Antonio can see as I count us down. “Two. One.”

That boy should absolutely consider an acting career, because he lets out a bloodcurdling scream so realistic that for a second, I’m worried he got shot. But so does everyone else, and the two guards who were manning the steps rush over. In a moment, everyone’s crowded around him.

“Run,” I say, grabbing Zwe’s hand.

We bolt. I’m trying to make as little noise as possible, and the thudding of my heart in my ears is so loud that I can barely make out what’s happening a few feet away.

“Something’s wrong!” Antonio is screaming. “I can’t feel my legs! And my heart is beating too fast! Is it a heart attack? I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“Shut up! You’re not having a heart attack!” one of the guards barks. Definitely a woman.

“How would you know? Do you have any idea how stressed I am right now?”

“Listen, little boy,” she snarls. I don’t know what she’s doing, but everyone’s gone very silent.

A mental image of her putting her rifle to Antonio’s temple pops up. Before the image can get any worse, I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head like an Etch A Sketch.

I don’t know why I thought shutting my eyes as I charge through a grove of trees at the fastest speed I ever have during my twenty-nine years on this earth would be a good idea, because it instantaneously turns out to be not .

I trip, my speed making it impossible for me to catch myself.

My left ankle makes a popping sound that ankles are not supposed to make.

It feels like someone’s set off a flash grenade inside my foot as heat threads itself through my veins and muscles.

I clench my teeth together so I don’t so much as yelp, but it doesn’t matter.

My fall has made enough noise that someone yells “Who’s there? ”, and I know there’s no hope.

“Go!” I yell at Zwe, who’s stopped several paces in front of me. He shakes his head, and I cry again, “Go! Just go!”

“It’s them!” comes a female voice, followed by the sound of quick footsteps.

Cold metal presses into the nape of my neck.

On reflex, I pivot around and onto my ass, coming face-to-face with a pair of calves.

By the time my gaze rises up to her masked face, I feel like I’m on the precipice of fainting.

Before I can think twice, my body acts on a primal urge to survive, and I start violently thrashing about.

My right foot lands on the woman’s jaw, causing her mask to fly off.

She’s around our age, dark brown skin, hazel eyes. When she reaches up to rub her cheek, I notice a tattoo on her left wrist of an opaque black blob. For a distracted second, I try to make out if the tattoo is maybe an animal? A country?

My kick has left her dazed enough that although she doesn’t drop her rifle, she does fall to her knees. Her eyes glaze over as she tries to recenter herself, but when they meet mine, a chill spirals up my spine.

Angry. This woman looks so angry, although I suppose getting kicked in the face will do that to you. At my continued staring, her eyes flatten into a sharp glare that makes me suddenly understand where the phrase “shoot daggers” came from.

Before I can take note of any other features, however, I feel two arms lifting me up from under my armpits.

“All you have to do is not let go,” says Zwe’s voice. “Do not. Let go.”

“Wh—”

His hand claws into mine, fingernails digging so deep I would cry out in pain if it weren’t for the context of our current situation.

And then he runs. He runs like we’re trying to outrun a fire, and I’m tripping over my feet with unsteady knees and I want to tell him to slow down but I know that is the exact opposite of what we need to be doing right now so I let him keep dragging me through the trees and bushes and jumble of roots.

We duck when we hear gunshots, but we don’t stop. Part of me is expecting to feel a bullet penetrate my back, and I morbidly wonder if it’d be lodged inside or if it’d be a clean through-and-through.

“Signs!” I manage to say and simultaneously gulp for air.

Zwe looks at where I’m pointing: a pole with arrows pointing in different directions, each one with a trail name written on them.

“Ko. Mo. Do. Trail,” Zwe wheezes.

“What?” I ask.

Despite being in very good shape, running while dragging a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound human being has taken a toll on him too, and I can just make out each word that he huffs out. “Komodo. Trail. We want. To go.”

“There,” I say, feeling somewhat useful when I clock the green letters that say KOMODO TRAIL .

“Where. Is. There,” Zwe croaks out.

“Two. O’clock,” I reply.

Somehow, once he spots the sign, he starts to run even faster.

And maybe it’s because I hear more gunshots and running and shouting behind me, but somehow, somefuckinghow, I keep up.

I’d blocked out that we would be running into the actual woods, but it’s undeniable almost as soon as the trail starts. Even in the darkness, it’s clear that there are no more picturesque fruit trees or grass that’s mowed on a daily basis.

The first thing I notice are the frogs and the cicadas.

I don’t see them, but croaks and buzzes echo all around us in spite of it being an open space, and I try not to linger too long on the question of What if I accidentally step on a frog?

The air smells different, too. There are a lot of a few kinds of trees, or a few of many trees, I’m not quite sure.

They’re all so tall, though, the kinds of trees where you have to tilt your neck up to an uncomfortable angle in order to see the tops.

It’s like I was plucked and transported into a whole new world, one whose scents and sounds and little oddities my brain can’t decipher due to lack of context.

After what feels like miles upon miles, we slow down and eventually stop altogether; we don’t need to talk to know that it’s a mutual decision based less on a sense of safety, and more on the fact that our bodies physically cannot take another step.

I sit down on the dirt, my throat pleading for hydration, my fingers too shaky to even unzip my backpack, let alone open a bottle of water. No matter how deep of a breath I take, it feels like there isn’t enough oxygen to satisfy my lungs. “Safe?” I ask on an exhale.

Next to me, Zwe has his knees up, his head sandwiched between them. “Think. So,” he replies, head still down.

“I saw her,” I say.

“I know.”

My brain has been racing over and over this one thought this entire time, like a treadmill that I can’t get off of. “They’re not going to let me escape now that I’ve seen her.”

“I know,” Zwe says, and the fact that he doesn’t add any logical, levelheaded piece of advice to calm me down is how I know that we’re royally screwed.

He lifts his head at last, and we hold each other’s gaze, still panting, still trying to catch our breath.

A voice in my head screams, Well? We’re here! What do we do now? Tell me what to do now!

But if he knew what to do, he’d have told me.

The next thought I have is I want my mom, and I want to laugh out loud because look at me, with all of this big talk about being an adult who pays for big holidays on her own, and at the end of the day, when I’m scared, all I want is my mom.

My mom, whom I’ve kept putting off calling since we got here.

I pull the cord on that train of thought because all it’s doing is keeping my heart rate up.

It’s too early for fatalism. I’m going to talk to my mom again soon. I have to.